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I was walking down the streets of Bristol, thinking to myself. Thinking "How am I going to get a job, are my parents gonna find me, am I going to get murdered, is there any definite proof that consciousness is entirely personal to the entity." As I was walking along, I went into a dark precinct, and I met a shady person leaning against the wall. I asked,

"What you doing down here, selling drugs."

"I am actually, fancy some crack."

It was a mans voice, and it had a distinct gruff, drawn out tone found in people who have difficulty understanding words and have to concentrate on each one. I could recognise such a voice anywhere.

"Is that you, Patrick?"

"Now how would you know that."

"Because I'm Roody from secondary school."

"Oh, hello Roody."

"So, you moved onto drugs after all, I remember when you went round selling sweats at school, but then the Head Master stopped you."

"Yes, my sister always said I should move on to drugs."

"So, I thought you would be doing something in computing now."

"I will do, but everyone thinks I'm too slow so won't give me a job, not yet anyway."

"That sucks, Patrick, really, all the same why are you doing something illegal."

"No ones caught me yet."

At that point a group of hooded men came along.

"Whose this prick here, Patrick?" asked the first one.

"This is Roody, he went to the special needs place with me at school" explained Patrick.

Why did Patrick have to give that sensitive information about me?

"Bloody hell another spastic" complained the second one.

Okay, knowing by the use of the word 'spastic' this isn't going to be a comfortable period of my life.

"Okay Patrick, wheres the money you owe us?" asked the first one.

"Here's all the stuff in my pockets" said Patrick.

He began throwing out a few small fist-fulls of what looked like paper money and coppers. The thugs began inspecting it, it was clear it wasn't enough from their expressions. The third one was passing the notes through a torch, it was also clear that some of the notes were fake.

"Are you playing some fucking trick on us, spastic!" shouted the third one.

"No no no that is what I've got, the bad notes are someone else tricking me" replied Patrick nervously.

"I think Patrick here has earned himself a good balls up" sniggered the first one.

I was thinking to myself, what!

At which point the second one punched Patrick in the chest to the floor. I immediately ran over and grabbed both the first and second one aggressively, I was about to say something when the first one head butted me in the nose. Oh it was painful, more painful than anything I had ever experienced, plus the sound of the cartilage splitting! I stepped back a bit, hearing the sound of kicks and punches and Patrick's cries. I then heard the third one laughing to himself quite contently. At this point I was even more angry than before. I lunged forward at the prick, grabbing his arm muscles so tightly I could imagine feeling them dislocate, and biting his neck so hard I could taste the blood. Despite all the punches, kicks and knees to the genitals, I continued due to sheer fury. Suddenly one of the others kicked me to the floor and before I could get up, a cobra was a foot away from my face. At this scene I went immediately tense. It was being held by the second one, and then the first one shouting.

"Okay spastic, stay out of our way in the fucking future or Cobby is gonna make out with your fucking face! And you retard" turning and pointing to Patrick "next time pay up or your dead!"

At this point the group began to walk away, the first one looking thoroughly pissed off, the others laughing and joking to themselves. I turned round and saw Patrick, who was crying, bruised, and was missing his jacket, I guess he put his drugs there and the wankers had taken it as a form of payment. I turned away and shouted,

"Oh who'd of fucking thought, that I'd end up lying in a fucking alley with an autistic drug dealer from school after being beaten up by fucking gangsters!"

I heard him cry some more, at this point my conscious began to kick in, all those impressions of people from school and my family talking to me saying, 'Your being really selfish Roddy, Patrick been through way more of this than you and your the one complaining, besides you had a choice, you could have stayed in your room, or you could have chosen to go to university rather than this fucking world domination shit...' I then start saying that Patrick was from the same middle class background as I am, he could have chosen a less risky career path, and they answer 'you know he's only really good at selling things behind corners.' Normally I would get more angry with myself, but at this point I had already reached my most angry, and I just cried some more. Soon I began to feel my legs, and although they hurt they were still movable, and I managed to heave myself up. I tried moving my arms, weaker than the legs but still movable. I then walked other to Patrick, managed to pick him up, he was crying with pain with this as well, and we carried each other to the hospital sobbing.

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